Scourgelord's work
by Kiwiruvian
Summary: Before the mass production of third generation death knights, a few experiments where carried out in secrecy by overzealous Scourgelords. As a general rule, many had to be discarded to feed mindless ghouls and others were too broken to even function. After the invasion to Silvermoon, a lord saw his opportunity and took one of the captured to be forged into a weapon. His weapon.
1. Captured

**A.N. **This story used to be part of "The Silver Haven" but after the last edits, it was obvious this one could work better as a story of its own. So, here it is. Hope you enjoy it.

Cheers,

Kiwiruvian

* * *

A groan escaped her lips even before she made the conscious decision to try and shift sore muscles. All at once memories and senses awoke, assaulting her with knowledge and making dread build up at the bottom of her stomach, or perhaps that was the result of the bitter-sweet and sickening smell of decay and other scents she did not dare to attempt naming.

She tried to move her head. _Ugh. _Bad decision, the pounding made itself known. She had hoped for it to remain almost as dull and numb as it had while she started to stir. Making it even worse was the sharp sting of a still fresh wound at her temple. She grimaced, feeling her skin pull with what she believed to be dried blood. A bath. Yes, that sounded like the best of ideas right now.

Fingers curled, but only moving her arms to push herself higher against the cold stone wall she had been laying against proved too much a strain.

_Belore, what has happened?_

The last she remembered, she had been with one of the assault groups in the Eversong Woods. With the perpetual smell of fall and golden shades of trees all around her and the army of elves as they waited the command to advance.

Their task, to attack the scourge from the side, hoping to block their way to Silvermoon. Or at the very least to stall them enough for civilians to flee to safer ground. It all had been hastily organized, no one had really thought possible for the enchanted gates to fall and leave the Quel'dorei haven unprotected. And she could see it in her comrades' faces, most of them still shocked but determined to protect with their lives what was theirs.

_How long has passed? Had they won and forgotten the wounded behind? _

_No. They wouldn't have… _

It was then that her half asleep mind snapped wide awake.

She remembered the blow to her head and the skeletal figure with rotten limbs that rose in front of her. All around the screams and noise of war, clattering of swords and swoosh of arrows faded as she faced her executioner. She thought the end had come for her then. Regret set deep in her soul at not being able to keep the promise to her little sister. At least she had been able to see her grow up. To see her taking on a path much different to her own, but proud of her nevertheless. At least she knew her little Erannis was far away with other elves and not here in the middle of the chaos and destruction. Without formulating conscious though, Threshe's hand had closed around the ring dangling at her neck by a thin silver chain.

The skeletal hand had closed around her throat and raised her without effort while squeezing. She had met her assailant's empty gaze as she dangled in his powerful grasp, shaking in desperation as no air made it to her lungs. Her vision darkened. Behind the scourge though, she remembered well seeing a man in hood and dark robes. His smirk, tugging on grey lips.

Eyes wide open, she found herself panting after snapping from the vivid memory. Chest heaving with every breath, even if it brought more of the nauseating smell, and cold sweat forming over her spine.

_Belore. _Where in hell was she? She took the time now to strain her hearing in the darkness. Quiet sobs, the sound of other people stirring nearby, groaning in pain or wheezing through damaged lungs. And metallic sound of chains being dragged.

Ignoring the shaking of limbs, she shifted to her knees. The rustle of chains and her searching fingers confirmed that she had been chained to the wall on which she had awoken. Ankles and neck where crudely decorated with saronite shackles, loose enough to allow movement but not as much to be able to slip out of them.

She swore under her breath as she tried to look about for something, anything that would help her somehow to pick the locks. All around she could only barely make out dark lumps of other prisoners in what she assumed to be a circular cell.

The quiet sobbing seemed to come from somewhere at her right. She could only assume, as the figure seemed to be coiled on itself against the wall, facing away from her. Dark fingers gripping the chain as it shook with every drawn breath. Threshe bit her lip, pain cursing through her soul as the person reminded her of how she had found Erannis hidden away under a table, not too long after they had learned of their parents' death. She bad been but a child and Threshe had been just at the right age to be considered an adult.

She looked away; nothing good would come now from delving into sad memories. To take action, that is what she needed to do. Locking away the pity eating at her and the almost compulsive need to reassure the one crying with empty words, she re-assumed trying to find something that would somehow help her own predicament.

At her other side she noticed another figure. This one seemed to be deeply asleep with its back to the room. Slowly an as quietly as she could, she reached for it. Trying first in soft Thalassian and then in slightly accented common to catch the man's or woman's attention. She growled under her breath in frustration when neither seemed to work and had to strain against the shackle at her neck to finally being able to get a hold of its shoulder and pull to turn and face her. _How could anyone sleep through this conditions?_

She could not contain the scream tearing through her throat, making many others about jolt in surprise and the one at her right to cry even louder. Threshe scrambled back as fast as she could on clumsy limbs until her back hit the stone wall.

There, now laying on its back the troll's unseeing eyes stared through open lids to the ceiling of the cell. Even in the darkness, she had been able to see the milky film covering them and the bloating starting to disfigure its features. No wonder the smell of death and decay had been so overpowering. She fought the urge to retch, even if it took all her concentration and empty stomach.

She did not have much time to think of it or what it meant for everyone else in the cell. Did they just leave their prisoners to rot away as some sort of cruel torture to the others? Is that what she had to look forward to? She cursed her fate, but the thought was cut short by the almost explosive bang of a door colliding against the wall as it was roughly pushed open. Oh, she jumped and could hear the whimper from the one at her right followed by a string of whispered words in a language that seemed both vaguely like thalassian and not, she managed to catch a few words here and there: protection, mother, moon. A prayer of a kind or another it seemed, in Darnassian perhaps? But that did not seem as important right then.

She had to look away from the almost painful glare of the torch lights from the hall outside. She was barely able to see by the corner of her eyes, the four figures striding into the cell and finally a fifth.

Only when she had grown used to the glare, did she attempted to look over. Four silent men in robes, two at each side of the door stood in an almost guard-like manner. Her gaze though, stayed on them only for a few seconds before shifting to the man in dark armor. Heavy footfalls of plated boots echoed in the cell with each step he took. Dark gaze seemed to weight each and every one of the prisoners, stopping on her the longest.

She tensed, breath catching in her throat, but dammed if she was going to look down or away in submission. She was a guard and like one, if she was to die it would be looking defiantly into death's or this man's eyes.

She could have sworn to see a dangerous glint behind his grey eyes, one that almost made her cringe and try to hide somewhere in the wall. To just stay there and become invisible for as long as it took.

He broke his stare then and kicked the troll's body, making her gasp at the sudden move. For all his height and bulky frame in plate armor, he was swift. The guard in her could not help but admire that. He muttered in a deep and oddly calm voice. "Take that away to the ghouls' cage."

Without a second to spare two of the servants moved to raise the body, she could almost see their grimaces at having to deal with the stench of the decaying carcass but dammed if they were to complain.

The dark lord, as she had already named him in her mind, turned without another look to the prisoners. She was just about to release her breath in a sigh when she heard his last words before he stepped through the door.

"Prepare the Quel'dorei and bring her to me."

_What?! _She prayed mentally and looked about the cell with too wide eyes, hoping to see another Quel'dorei. She had to snap her gaze back, when the two men in robes leaned down on her to unlock the shackles and each take an arm.

She was roughly pulled to her feet and tried to pull back from them out of instinct, not knowing what it meant for her to have been chosen.

_What would they do to her? How long did she have until her last breath? Would she be tortured? Would they show mercy and let her go back to her homeland? _

Her thoughts rushed in her mind, trying to find an explanation and a sliver of hope in them. She doubted the last would ever come true, even more as the unrelenting grasp on her arms tightened. Cold fingers digging into her flesh and she was almost dragged down the hall.

The sound of the slamming door of the prison she had been moments ago ringed in her ears. Overriding the almost growls of her hopeless struggles to free herself from the silent guards.


	2. Transformation

The only sound came from a suspended cage in the middle of the room. The soft inhale and exhale, shaky breath of one of the living that struggled with the conditions she had been left in.

The female quel'dorei had lost track of time, not that it mattered anymore if it she had been there for days or even weeks. The only thing she was sure of was that she was no longer in Eversong Woods. Too cold, back home the weather had been -if not exactly warm- at least bearable. Here on the other hand, the thin black kilt, feet-wraps and vest where nowhere close to be enough to protect her already battered body against the icy temperature.

Wrists and ankles bore the marks of shackles, darkening bruises where Threshe had struggled against them until the rusted metal bit into her skin. Her fingers showed signs of the first stages of frostbite but it did not stop her from gripping the bars of her cage. The metal stunk of rust and blood, any other time she would have never kept her forehead pressed against it. She preferred it, though, over the alternative. The base of the cage showed dark spots and blotches of old blood, one even looked too much as if fingertips had smeared it while trying to avoid been dragged.

_Erannis..._

Sometimes she closed her eyes and was able to see her sister's face, from everything, she missed Erannis the most. Threshe wondered if she was well, and prayed to the sun's light to protect her since she could not. She wondered even if the others had managed to drive the scourge away from the city and if anyone was looking for her right then, or if they thought her to be dead already. If she was lucky enough, sometimes her dreams took her back to her childhood, most times though, the face of the Scourge Lord haunted her and she awoke even more tired than before.

She knew well what the scourgelord wanted. To test her boundaries, to slowly and very carefully break and reshape her into a monster , into something like one of those guards of vacant grey gaze and quick to follow his every command. One thing he seemed keen on though, was to keep her in clean- if minimal- clothes, reasonably fed and free of permanent markings. She considered herself lucky the times she did not see him for days. Other times, he could not get enough of seeing her struggle, seeing her trying to bite back pained moans and cries until silent tears ran down her cheeks.

What he didn't seem to realize though, was that everything he made her go through only fuelled her rage and hate towards him rather than make her want to obey and follow him like a trained puppy.

He loved taunting her, explaining with graphic detail what he was going to do to her. The worse had been when he had her laying back on a stone altar. Wrists stretched to the sides and held in place by unholy energy; just as her ankles had been bound together in much the same way so that she formed a T-cross with her body. He had walked around her, observing his favoured toy until he placed a hand on her exposed belly. For a long moment he just patted her, eyes narrowed in concentration as if her pale flesh contained the secrets he had been looking for a long time. She had watched him with clenched teeth and tense jaw, that time he had not spoken at all and it worried her greatly. At least in the other occasions she have had an idea of what he was planning and was able to prepare herself for what was to come. That time, the sudden bolt of corrupted energy seemed to awaken every single nerve in her body, making her spine bow, arching with the force of it as her lips parted in a silent scream and eyes widened. She could not find her voice, she could not see, nor hear. The only thing that existed was excruciating pain which left her shaking and mewling pathetically even after the scourge lord removed his hand.

After that she had simply woken up back in the cage, the scourge lord nowhere to be seen. She had lied curled into a fetal position for a long time, cheeks damp and body shuddering with the memory of what she had gone through. He had not come back since then, and she was glad. The only person that had entered the room in the following days was the one guard in charge of bringing her food, but as usual, he left without a word.

* * *

The sounds of heavy footsteps made her tense and raise her head from where it had been resting against the bars. Her heart agitated in fear and she licked her cracked lips while turning to the single entrance just as the scourge lord stepped into the room. His unnaturally grey eyes already trained on hers. _Not again..._

She hated him, him and the fear his sole presence brought and her body betraying her feelings. Her mouth became suddenly dry, without thinking she was already pressing her back against the bars, keeping him in sight. The flicker of a wrist commanded the suspended cage to descend to the ground and he made his way to her. She caught glimpse of his usual guards at the other side of the door before it closed with an echoing click.

The scourge lord stopped right in front of the cage's door, boots crushing one of the many carelessly discarded bones that aided the room's haunted ambiance. She curled her lips into a snarl and buried her mind numbing fear as well as she was able to. Like hell she was going to allow him to see just how much he truly frightened her.

The silence was heavy between them; grey eyes locked to dulled blue ones. The starring contest only broke when he reached to open the cage with an equally rusted key, he turned then and she had the momentary hope of freedom and a chance to reach it. It lasted little of course, just as he turned and walked towards the altar at one side of the room; corrupted energy took hold of her wrists, dragging her out of the cage despite her efforts to fight their hold.

"You should know by now that struggling will not help you." His voice echoed. It was as dull as the grey and black robes he wore; only the skulls on girdle and shoulder-pads provided any decoration giving him an even more unnerving presence.

Her reply was a glare to his turned back and a grunt as she attempted once again to free herself from the bonds. He flickered his wrist. She could almost see the shadows and corrupted power gathering and reaching to better restrain her. The same dark power elevated her body effortlessly, despite her twisting and squirming, and laid her back on the frigid stone of the blood stained altar.

_Oh belore, not again. _She flinched and made a small sound when he raised a hand. Mentally she cursed herself for showing weakness. He did not touch her though. Instead, he seemed to observe a piece of blackened stone in his hand. The stone started glowing with an eerie blue hue. The Scourge Lord's lips were moving in an almost silent chant, one that she could not understand even when she strained her ears to catch some of the words.

He continued with the chant and slowly started lowering the stone to her body. She had no idea what it was, but the energy it emitted felt wrong. She was, oh so very, sure of not wanting it touching her skin. The closer it got, the faster her breathing became, her skin broke in goose bumps which did not get any better when the scourge lord levelled his other hand to stroke her exposed it was but an inch away from her body, thin tendrils seemed to form from the icy blue mist. They squirmed but soon started elongating and reaching to her. She clenched her fists, waiting until the 'things' made their final approach. _  
_

It never happened.

The mist seemed to hit an invisible barrier before reaching her skin. The scourge lord narrowed his eyes, lips pressed in an annoyed line when the one experiment, he had hoped to succeed, failed completely. She had but a second to feel relieved.

"Perhaps…" His voice trailed, snapping her back from her silent prayer in thanks to the Sun's mercy. A cold finger traced an inch below her birth scar. "Perhaps for the scourge stone to take hold of your body, it needs to be inside."

_What?! _She snapped her eyes back up. She was sure of seeing a smirk forming on his grey lips, but it could have been a trick of the shadows. From his belt he raised a wicked looking dagger, the blade seemed to curve slightly, and its runes glowed faintly.

Her eyes widened when she caught on his intentions. "W-what are you doing? Do not dare to touch me with that" She growled, trying to hide her fear. He flickered his grey gaze to hers but then looked back down to his work. The dagger was sharp, that she noticed well with a gasp that threatened to become a scream. As soon as her blood touched the blade the runes along the blade brightened, as if her lifeblood fueled it. _Anar'alah belore..._

The scourge lord pressed the dagger deeper. _L__et this end quickly. Allow my soul to join those of my fallen comrades..._

She could feel her warm blood streaming down her sides and staining both vest and kilt, but didn't take long for it to cool down. _Belore, protect my sister with your brilliance when I'm gone..._

Her whole body was tense and she tried to bit back cries and tears. She cursed the lord in her mind, over and over again, vowing to have her revenge even if she had to reach from the realm of the dead and drag him to hell.

"Is ok to scream," he mocked her. A pained sob escaped her. _Bastard._ He took a moment to study the still glowing scourge stone before inserting it into the wound he had created.

The reaction was almost immediate.

Her body convulsed in protest, eyes wide and unseeing, spine twisting and she trashed on the altar or she thought she did. Her mind seemed to be lost in the miasma that was her thoughts, feelings and emotions.

The lord placed his hand over the still bleeding wound and fed the scourge stone with his own corrupted power. The darkened stone glowed brighter than before, the tendrils now found no barrier and began to expand, seeping throughout her body; invading and infecting every tissue and cell. Their main path was accentuated by a single glowing path from stone to chest. There it pulsated, following the rhythm of her slowing heart.

She made the only conscious decision she was capable off, to close her eyes, to press them shut as if the darkness would help her through her final moments. It didn't.

Her heart became even more sluggish, every breath hurt.

Darkness did little to alleviate neither the pain… nor the growing hunger.

Her heart stopped. Her last breath escaped through parted lips.

Something snapped, her soul shattered.


	3. Risen

_Rise elf._

That voice again. The same insisting, loud and infuriating voice that kept her from resting. Could it not just shut the hell up and leave her be? Her body hurt, her head did as well and each syllable it intonated only managed to irritate her further.

_Rise…_

She didn't even recognize it, not that it would have made mattered. She just wanted to rest, to keep gliding down that tunnel that she knew signalled the end of her physical life and eternity awaiting beyond. Elven priests suspected and often talked about the existence of a peaceful state beyond death, and after all that she had gone through, the least she could expect was to be allowed that respite.

_Elf…_

That is, if it wasn't for the exasperating whisper. She was done; she did not want to know more of the suffering of the living, was that so difficult to understand?

_Rise elf and follow my command._

She felt something pulling at her, willing her consciousness back into a broken carcass that used to be hers. _No! _She tried to grasp at anything at her reach to keep herself anchored and attempted to reach the light.

She would not return. She did not want to. Nothing mattered to her broken soul but to find peace. Needless to say ethereal fingers only passed through solid forms and she saw with building dread as the light seemed farther and farther away each passing second. In her mind, she bellowed. Her lament became one with her soul. If she had been able to, she would have torn her hair out and wreaked her face with her own nails.

She did not want this. She wanted peace. Why was it negated to her?!

_Rise Elf…_

Dread, fear, lament and agony became anger. Pure and absolute anger than seemed to burn in her core and empower her whole existence. The hunger that once has been for arcane magic, became something foul, tainted and unnatural.

Oh, how she would enjoy seeing the one summoning her back to life suffering at her hand. She would drag out every second of it, torturing, maiming, killing for her own amusement. And the thought came without a hint of remorse.

_Rise elf and heed my command. Obey me._

No, she would not obey anyone or anything. Specially not –him- and she now recognized the voice. The Scourgelord. The one that had her captured and tortured. The one that would die at her hand as soon as she woke.

_Threshe –_She spared a moment to feel shock at the lord knowing her name- _You are mine..._

* * *

In one of the halls of a necropolis deep into the scourged lands of Dragonblight, one of the first experiments proved successful. A lord had been able to raise one back from the dead by means of a Scourgestone and foul, twisted magic.

The Lord looked down to his precious possession and felt pride on his own work. Depigmentation was but a drawback, the first step had been successful and that was all that mattered. Now the real challenge would come: To test how well this new kind of knight of death would turn out.

"Raise elf. Your training is about to begin." The reanimated body shuddered yet again. She still resisted. Interesting. Another prod of necromantic power and the now ghostly pale elf opened her eyes.

He noticed with another hint of curiosity how they had changed in color as well. Their once blue elven glow had become a flame of icy hue akin to the runes that empowered the implanted scourgestone.

The elf simply started blankly to the ceiling for a long time, then, slowly shifted her head and focused on the lord. He could see it there, deep in her gaze, even if her expression remained unchanging. Hatred fuelled her, a killing machine to be shaped at his whim. A cruel smirk crossed the lord's lips. He beckoned her to rise. Her response was slow, but that much he had expected. All are clumsy when born and being reborn seemed to be not the exception.

The knight rose, body bare but for the kilt barely holding to her hips and vest provided before she had been removed from the stone altar. He had not bothered to clean the blood, which now painted and formed a dark crust on her belly and sides where it had spilled the night before.

"Follow." The lord commanded and turned, walking out of the chamber, more like a prison, that had contained her while he waited for her awakening.

Threshe stood there for a moment or two. Fingers flexed and she looked down at her own hands as if she had never seen them before. Another flex and she clenched it into a fist. She felt it, felt the power uninhibited by physical or mental restraints, a perk of the raised. She looked where the lord had left and even if her mind screamed to end his miserable life for having ended hers… she lowered her hand and followed.

Threshe Felo'lithian, the quel'dorei, the Silvermoon guardian and protector had died the night before. Instead a shell of her had been brought to walk the path of the damned. Now it was for the scourgelord to discover how much of his little experiment's former self had survived his methods and how much of it was forever lost.


End file.
